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Disclaimer Characters and events appearing in "Kiss of the Fallen" are complete works of fiction, and no resemblance to any persons (living, dead or undead) is intended. You know what to do if you're not of legal age. As always intelligent comments and constructive criticism are always welcome and can be sent to freakfairy2000@yahoo.com.
WARNING: This chapter details mild violence and suicide. Now on with the story XD
Kiss of the Fallen: A Tale of Supernatural Gay Erotica
by A.R. Booth
Part 8
I musta dozed off after a while cuz I opened my eyes to something gently shakin' my shoulder. When I opened my eyes and focused through the haze of sleepiness, I felt a strong firm grip on my shoulder and Billy B. was sitting on the little fridge thing in between the driver and passenger seats.
"Hey sleepyhead." He mused with a grin. "Look, if ya wants it there's a bed back 'ere." He gestured to the cramped space in the back of the cabin with the bed. "I gotsa git gassed up and stock up on supplies. There's a long stretch a road 'tween 'ere and New York and no stop for 'bout a couple hundred miles.
It was then that I realized we weren't moving. I looked out my window to see we were stopped at some other truck stop somewhere...it looked...in the middle of nowhere.
"Mummffgguuhh...," I had managed to grumble out which was returned by a short gruff laugh and a strong hand patting my shoulder real friendly like.
"There anythin' ya like special? Anythin' I can git ya while I'm gone?"
Those steel gray hues glimmered in the little light afforded by the neon glow of the over-lamps of the gas-station, and I realized that it was dark. I musta slept the entire damn day away! I simply shook my head in my grogginess.
"Uh..." I started off. Oh yeah. I'm a real good talker. "No..s'kay. Not real hungry." Yawning, seemed to be my favorite past-time at the moment. "Jus' still a bit sleepy." I laid my head on the cushion of the headrest and he nodded, smiling back at me.
"Well, awright then. I'll be back in a little while. Git back 'ere in that bed and git ya some more rest, y'hear? Best time ta rest is at stops. So's ya can be 'wake ta see all the perty sights that good ole America's got ta offer." With that he climbed out of the truck and I was alone in the cramped space.
Sighing, I maneuvered my way out of the seat and into the back of the cabin. It was small and cramped and had the stale musty odors of a man's natural scents as well as men's cologne, oil, machinery, leather. Everything about it screamed "a man lives here." Groaning at the discomfort of a suddenly aching hard-on I fell face first into the mattress and closed my eyes.
*I was back, exactly where I didn't wanna be. Clutching my little tattered teddy bear, with it's missing eye and small tear on the leg that had bits of fluff flaking out if you so much as squeezed it. Pondering the jagged edge hunting knife that lay before me, glinting in the low watt lightbulb that glowed on the ceiling. The knife itself had been a birthday present from Blake, a buddy of mine from a few years back who had suddenly been uprooted and forced to move with his parents not but a year before. I studied the contours and deathly sharp grooves of the knife with the scrutinizing gaze of an artist picking the tool to use for a new portrait. I had kept it sharpened and oiled gleaming to a slick shine. One of my prized possessions. One of the few things I owned that had been given freely out of love and friendship. "Would it do the job? Would I need a back-up plan? Is it sharp enough? God I hope so." The dark thoughts going through my mind were my naive plans to, quite simply, kill my father. Sneak up on him in one of his drunken stupor's and just slide the knife over his throat. Or jam it in his heart. Or his skull. End it. Put a stop to his reign of terror. I would silence those hateful words I had heard from the day I was born. Stop the beatings with one fateful swipe of the mighty sword I now held in the form of a simply sharpened hunting knife. I had taken 18 years of his shit and I wasn't gonna take no more! I picked the knife up and fondled it lovingly, almost insanely. Then it happened. A loud *BANG* that startled me so much the knife slipped from my grasp and fell to the bed. I ran. I ran through dark hallways that vaguely reminded me of the house I had grown up in. Chasing shadows that faintly resembled nothing at all. I peered in empty rooms, gasping from the running, trying to find the source of the blast that had shaken me from my revelry. Images swirled around and over one another until I became lost and didn't know where I was in my own home. *BANG* The blast echoed again and I tried to follow it but I couldn't discern where it was coming from. "Momma?" The word slipped from my lips like a tombstone's epitaph. Silent. Blatantly fearful. Then it was upon me all too quickly as I stumbled through a shadowed hallway. Blood. A Body. Stringy blonde shoulder length hair matted and covered with sticky goo. "Momma?!" A gun, so freshly triggered that smoke still escaped the chamber. Cold fingers locked in place held that gun. The fingers attached to the arm of the body with the stringy blonde hair. I ran. I ran through dark hallways that no longer even vaguely reminded me of the house I grew up in. House. Not home. I never truly had a home. Just a house, where I sought shelter from the elements. But I wonder which was colder...my father or the Colorado winters. Probably why my mother lay dead by her own hand in the garage. Bastard. I ran. Ran from the truth. Ran from my father. From my mother. Terrified it would be blamed on me. Terrified he would kill me like he had killed her. Oh she had pulled the trigger...but it was him that killed her. I wasn't going out like that. So I ran. Through twisting shadows and darkened forests. Stumbling upon a clearing I realized that the clearing was a centuries old cemetery. Tombstones jutting out from every direction, a dark mist shrouding the words. He led me here, again. What a joyful thought! The man with the emerald eyes and the hair of silken black. He made me feel safe! I would be safe here! I dropped to my knees and hugged myself, praying for the dream-man who had sheltered me from reality all those years. I could count on my dream-man to hold me close and protect me from my father. I could escape in my dreams...and my dream-man was always there when I needed him. He finally showed, walking between two angel statues guarding over some long dead husband and wife. Those strong hands of alabaster were held out to me as I looked up and saw him. He had come to me shirtless this time. That pale muscular torso gleaming, seemingly at home in the shadows that surrounded this graveyard. He wanted to show me how safe I was with him. How good he could make me feel. I sighed as I jumped up and ran to him. And ran. And ran. And ran. No matter how far I ran I couldn't reach him. He seemed to be just that much farther away. "Don't leave me! Please! I NEED YOU!" Screaming would do no good. He wouldn't come until he wanted. Calming myself I settled back down on the ground, ghostly tears pouring down my cheeks. And suddenly he was there. Wrapping those strong bare arms around me, my face being pressed into that wide muscled chest, covered with sweeping fine silky chest hair. It felt good, kinda scratchy against my skin...but soft and feathery. He tilted my face up to his and those full lips...so kind and full of loving whispers, were pressed against mine. I couldn't help but moan. I needed this. The soft loving touch of my dream-warden. Those emerald eyes of his trailed down my body and he smiled when he saw the tent that was my jeans. It seems he did make me feel good. Then all of a sudden those emerald hues became crimson...his lips curving back into a gentle smile as fangs replaced his canines. It didn't scare me. This was just my dream-warden. He was roused with lust for me...that was his lusty face. He knew what I wanted. I knew what he needed. And I gave it to him.All too soon I was waking up again. Grumbling I fumbled for the clock on my nightstand, not finding it. Damn. I'd just have to open my eyes to find it. I opened my eyes and saw that I was not where I was supposed to be. Startled into full awareness I sat up quickly in the bed. I saw stars as my forehead crashed into something painfully, and I felt something sharp cut deep into my cheek, just below my right eye. A warm trickle of liquid found it's way down my cheek in the dark of the confined space, and a slight metallic odor that I was all to used to registered it as blood. I brought my hand up to my forehead and rubbed away the stinging pain, as the stars slowly faded away.
Damn.
I quickly brought my hand up to assess the damage and I could feel a small stingin' where my finger touched the cut under my eye. I was pretty much dulled to pain by that point, so I just figured it a scratch. Looking up I saw what had blocked my path from the bed to a sitting position. A shelf-like structure that came out over the foot of the bed. I had somehow got twisted and turned around in my sleep as my feet were now planted on a pillow. The shelf, I knew from earlier investigation, held some books and other personal items. The something sharp must have been the bit of metal that was bent unintentionally into a point.
My cheek began to feel numb and a little hot, so I crawled out of the bed and fumbled around for the roll of paper napkins I had seen briefly somewhere on the floor of the cabin near the foot of the built-in bed. Then it hit me. Oh God. I'd had a wet dream. A fuckin' wet dream on top of it all. The familiar stickiness in my shorts beneath my jeans was an all too real reminder that I would need to clean up soon. Preferably before Billy B. got back. Hell, we had stopped at a truck rest, right? To get gas and stock up on supplies. There was probably a bathroom, there more than likely, right? Yeah...and Billy B. wouldn't take off without me. Probably.
In any case, I crawled over the passenger seat and retrieved my duffle bag. Fumbling around in the low lighting, my fingers searched the unfamiliar smooth terrain of the passenger side door, looking for the handle that would allow me access to the night air, and away from the suddenly stifling truck cabin. I searched and searched that door and never found a pulley, or a handle. Nothing. Grumbling I made my way over to the driver side, maneuvering my body before the wheel. I continued my search on that door, and found to my relief a handle that would surely let me open the door. I yanked.
Nothing.
I yanked again. And again...nothing. No click of the switch that would allow the door to be opened. Muttering out a few swears, I let my eyes adjust to the low level of light and searched the door for anything that resembled a lock.
Nothing.
It was locked. Obviously. But where was the lock that I could just simply pull up to unlock the door? There wasn't one. By this time I was almost on the verge of a panic attack. Scrambling back over to the passenger side I looked once again with my newly adjusted sight. Sure enough there was no inside handle on that door. Just a smooth surface. I cringed as I came to a sobering realization.
I was trapped.
TO BE CONTINUED...